


Endgames

by conceptofzero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:21:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet with each other twice a year as a gesture of peace. War continues to build on both sides, but still, they meet year after year, first on Prospit, and then on Derse. The Kings amuse themselves by demonstrating the might of their armies, and after each meeting, the opposing King returns home and puts his inventors and soldiers to work to become better, more impressive, and deadlier. It is a public power game that keeps the nations occupied while they wait for the game to truly begin.</p><p>The Queens have their own power game, but it is a private one, and not for anyone else to see. In the purple towers of Derse, or the golden chambers of Prospit, they play chess and make wagers. Unlike their husbands, they do not wager the lives of their people. Instead, their currency is themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Endgames

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Эндшпиль (Endgames by conceptofzero)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/976323) by [Mr_Scapegrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Scapegrace/pseuds/Mr_Scapegrace)



They meet with each other twice a year as a gesture of peace. War continues to build on both sides, but still, they meet year after year, first on Prospit, and then on Derse. The Kings amuse themselves by demonstrating the might of their armies, and after each meeting, the opposing King returns home and puts his inventors and soldiers to work to become better, more impressive, and deadlier. It is a public power game that keeps the nations occupied while they wait for the game to truly begin.

The Queens have their own power game, but it is a private one, and not for anyone else to see. In the purple towers of Derse, or the golden chambers of Prospit, they play chess and make wagers. Unlike their husbands, they do not wager the lives of their people. Instead, their currency is themselves.

The board is half-empty. The Black Queen plays offensively, aggressively, decimating the White Queen’s army and her own in the process. The White Queen has a far more defensive game, picking and choosing her battles, keeping her ranks closed.

“If I take your King in three moves, I'll take you on the balcony for all to see.” The Black Queen says, taking yet another of white’s pawns off the board.

"Agreed," The White Queen studies the board. She makes a wager of her own, “If I take your rook, I'll see you on your knees." A vulgar proposition, but this is not the place to be demure. The Black Queen removed all shyness from the White Queen long ago, during their first few meetings. There is a place for her soft and gentle nature, but it is not here, not in the Black Queen's chambers.

“Of course,” They play out the game. The rook escapes unscathed, despite her best efforts. She does delay the taking of her King by four moves, a small victory, if not the victory she was truly hoping for. BQ smiles when she topples the White King on the board and takes the hand of the defeated WQ.

The first time they met, on Prospit, it was the Black Queen who invited the White Queen to join her in a game. WQ had been quiet and tentative, uncertain if she should trust meeting with the Derse royalty, even if it was on the White Queen's world. And while she worried, the Black Queen thrashed her at chess, and then cornered her against her bedroom doors, kissing the White Queen until all propriety was ripped from her body.

They leave their rings on the bedside table as a sign of trust and respect. They’re far too proud to seize victory through petty theft. If all goes as planned, then they’ll face one another on the Battlefield and discover through combat who is the more worthy Queen.

The Black Queen's chambers are filled with mirrors. The largest rests against the west wall, a full-length mirror the size of the King, though the White Queen can't imagine him ever standing in front of it. The Black Queen stops in front of it and undresses, her fine silks simply gliding off her skin and hitting the floor without a sound. The White Queen follows suit, shedding her own dress, the white looking strikingly out of place against the dark floors. The Queens are an identical match, alike in all respects, except for the colour of their carapaces. BQ slips behind WQ, and stares at them in the mirror. "Look at us."

The White Queen looks at herself, and her dark double lurking behind her, like a shadow. They're so alike, so perfectly alike. A can of paint, and no one would be able to tell them apart. "This is narcissism."

"A good queen loves her people as much as she loves herself. And I do love my people." The Black Queen is flippant, but she can afford to be. They both know how the war will end for their husbands, even if not for themselves. Derse wins. Derse always wins.

BQ presses a kiss to WQ's shoulders, and slides her hands to the White Queen's breasts, cupping and squeezing them. The Black Queen knows exactly what the White Queen likes. They are alike in more than just looks. Perfect doubles, but with some small differences. Those dark thumbs flick across WQ's pale nipples, and she leans back into BQ, knowing what comes next.

One hand remains on WQ's breast while the other delves down, slipping between her thighs. BQ's fingers know the way well, and the White Queen is already wet. She's been wet since they sat down down at the board and engaged in their own sort of foreplay. The Black Queen's fingers are clever, and they press against WQ's clit, rubbing across it steadily and regularly, while her other fingers put themselves to work. They slide inside of her, two fingers in and one of the clit, and BQ works her hand in a steady, regular thrusting motion, knowing exactly what's needed to get the White Queen off. She bites at WQ's neck as well, not hard enough to break the shell, just hard enough to remind the WQ who's in charge.

The White Queen doesn't mean to watch the reflection in the mirror, but there's little else to see but what's in front of her, and what's in front of her is... well, her. The black arms around her body break her into segments, and the Black Queen watches the White Queen watching herself. Voyerism feels like such a small crime compared to the vanity required to enjoy sex with your mirror self.

The finger on her clit changes tactics, grinding down hard, while the ones inside of her twist and thrust harder, sliding in as deep as they can go. BQ's other hand simply holds the WQ up, those clever fingers putting themselves to work on one sensitive nipple. The entire act is rather too much to bear, and the White Queen comes, her legs almost giving out on her when the orgasm hits. BQ knows what to expect and she holds onto WQ tight, still thrusting through the orgasm, trying to coax out another orgasm. But the White Queen is too sore from the first, and it starts to hurt, forcing her to say, "stop, it's too much."

The Black Queen bites the White Queen's neck again, but she stops. Her fingers slip out of WQ, and BQ licks them one by one, the mirror showing everything. When she finishes, she walks back towards the bed and sprawls on it. It's like the one in the White Queen's chambers, but in purple instead of gold. The Black Queen lounges on it, waiting for her own reward, and when the White Queen joins her, BQ spreads her legs, her intent as clear as an open book.

The White Queen crawls onto the bed and lies down, settling her head between the black queen's thighs. She knows these legs well, almost as well as she knows he own. But she may know this cunt better than her own, having seen it face-to-face far more often than having seen hers own. She is not shy, because there is no point in pretending here. Coyness does not suit either of them, not while they are alone, not while there is no audience to judge their actions. This is one of the few moments of truth between them with no ceremony to stand on or fake sincerity.

WQ presses her mouth to BQ's lips, kissing her once before using one hand to push the lips apart. Her mouth finds the small pink pearl, and she licks at it. The taste of slight salt and the musk that is distinct feminine floods her senses and she savours it. She draws her tongue across the Black Queen's clit in long careful strokes, refusing to go too fast, even as BQ tries to tighten her thighs around WQs head in annoyance. The White Queen knows better, and she keeps her free hand against the side of the Black Queen's thigh, pressing it apart every time it tries to tighten them.

There's a mirror right above them as well, and though she can't see it, the White Queen knows it's there. The Black Queen likes to watch herself come, and the White Queen would say that was narcissistic, but they've already established that this entire dalliance is built on that complicated emotion. WQ doesn't use her fingers on the Black Queen. She doesn't need to. A tongue against the clit is all that's really needed to get anywhere.

The Black Queen is hardly quiet. She speaks through the entire thing, not about the sex, but about the war. About Derse. About her impending victory. "When we fight, and I win, surrender to me," She says, and her voice grows high and strained as WQ licks a little quicker, "Surrender, and I'll keep you as a prisoner of war. You can stay with me forever, here in my chambers. You won't have to serve anyone but me. You'll wear nothing and wait in my chambers, and I'll never leave, and we'll fuck all day long until we both bleed."

She would like to pretend it doesn't appeal to her. But she's thought something similar once or twice, when it's the Black Queen between her legs. The thought of the Black Queen being forced to kneel, to submit, is more delicious than anything, any sort of victory. She understand the desire, even if she never vocalizes it the way BQ does, even if the chances of White winning are next to none. She thinks about BQ on her knees, collar around her throat, and just presses her teeth and tongue against the Black Queen's clit, just pressing and holding until the queen begins to squirm and her speech is disrupted by the smallest of moans.

The White Queen sucks on the clit and the Black Queen comes, those thighs of hers trying to close around WQ's head and trap her there forever. WQ raises her face and watches the Black Queen in the throes of her orgasm, face twisted up and caught in the midst of some divine ecstasy, her eyes fixed on the mirror above. She has seen her own face in the mirror to know that their expressions are the same.

BQ stays where she lies on the bed, sweating and panting as she tries to catcher breath. The White Queen cleans her face off with part of the sheets and waits for her double to recover. They stay sprawled there for a while in comfortable silence, neither having any place to be or any reason to rush to dress and pretend such things never happened. They don't lie to one another, not even about these quiet moments.

But the time eventually comes, and they dress and place their rings on again, and kiss once before returning to the parlour. When their husbands return from their own far more elaborate foreplay, the Queens are discussing politics and comparing bureaucracies.

One day, the war will come, and they will have to face one another on the Battlefield. And whoever the winner is, she will demand the other surrender. The White Queen isn't sure she will surrender when the time comes. But somehow, knowing the Black Queen has the same decision to make makes her own decision easier.


End file.
